I'm a Failure
by weirdmixofsodapopanddallas
Summary: Something's killing twelve-year-old girls. Sam and Dean, investigating, stumble across what seems to be the answer... SET IN SEASON 2, TWOSHOT
1. You Gotta Believe Me

_Author's note: I thought I'd give another Supernatural fic a try, since I just can't get those boys out of my head. Thanks for the incredible response to my first one, I honestly thought people would tell me it was shit, so at least that was a pleasant surprise._

 _So, basic backstory on this fic: First of all, this takes place in Season 2. Okay? Okay. Just a little two-shot again. Also, I kid you not, I dreamed this. I went to sleep and dreamed this up. I'm a little terrified of my subconscious, but whatever. Hope you enjoy it. Sorry if the boys are a little OOC. I just keep feeling like I haven't quite wrapped my head around they're psyches yet. Tell me if I'm doing okay in the reviews, please?_

 _AND WHO ELSE IS ABOUT TO HAVE A PANIC ATTACK ABOUT SEASON 14 STARTING ON THURSDAY?! THOSE TRAILER VIDEOS..._

 **Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine in any way, otherwise I would've taken Jensen home with me.**

 _ **Chapter 1: You Gotta Believe Me**_

 **DEAN'S POV**

We were back at a library. Again. Researching stuff. Again. Sam was in his element. Again. I was bored and miserable as hell. Again.

Seeing the pattern? Seeing how we were doing things we've done so many damn times that I'm just so finished with it? Yeah.

So while Sam was hard at work, I read some Batman comics.

"Dean." Sam said after a while.

I looked up. "Yeah?"

"You feel like actually doing something useful anytime soon?"

I pretended to think about it for a second, then shook my head. "Wasn't planning on it, no."

"Something's killing twelve-year-old girls, Dean. The least you can do is actually show a little interest."

"I did!"

"For all of ten minutes."

"I-"

"Ahem."

Sam and I looked up to find an old woman standing next to us. She looked angry.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"What? Why?" I really didn't get it. We were doing exactly what libraries were made for. Research. Or Sam was, anyway.

"Because you're arguing, and it's loud and distracting. You can check out your books and have your fight elsewhere."

Sam glared at me, got up, left everything where it was, and headed to the door. I jogged after him. I didn't want to deal with an angry old woman any longer than I absolutely had to. They could be downright scary.

"Sam!"

"I can't believe you just got us kicked out of a library." He was trying to stay upset, but he couldn't help laughing a little. He knew it was funny.

"You know you love my skill set. Getting kicked out of libraries is part of the charm."

"Yeah, whatever."

I opened the Impala's door, but before I could get in, this blonde girl came tearing out of the house next to the library screaming.

"Hey!" I shouted. "The hell's the matter?!"

The girl let out some weird half-sob, half-scream thing and ran over to us. She literally jumped at me, so I had no choice but to catch her. I wasn't about to let some sobbing 12-year-old fall and crack her head open in the parking lot right in front of me.

She wrapped her legs around my waist - like you see really little kids do to their moms - and her arms around my neck and just sobbed into my shoulder. I gave Sam this look like 'what in the name of all that is holy?'. He shrugged. He was just as lost as I was.

Taking advantage of the open door, I set her down in the front seat of the Impala and crouched down next to her. "Hey, you gotta calm down. We can't understand you or help you when you're going crazy."

"Deep breaths." Sam said.

Fat lot of help you are.

Once the girl was calm enough, I said, "I'm Dean, and this is Sam. What's your name?"

"Carrie." she sniffled.

I raised an eyebrow. You don't get a lot of kids named Carrie anymore. "Alright, Carrie, what's the deal?"

She shook her head. "You won't believe me! You'll think I'm crazy!"

I glanced at Sam. "Believe me, Carrie, crazy's kinda our thing."

"Are you making fun of me?" Tears started to slip down her face again.

"No!" I said quickly. "Hell, no. I'd never make fun of anybody."

Sam snorted and I glared at him. That wasn't helping anything.

"You can tell us, Carrie. We won't laugh or think you're crazy. We can probably help you with it." I was pretty sure that whatever scared her was what Sam and I were hunting. After all, the thing had been going after twelve-year-old girls, and here we had one, ready and waiting.

"There's something in my house." she whispered, like she was sharing some dirty secret. "I think it's a ghost. It's so angry…"

I glanced at Sam again. Bingo. "Can we come in your house and check it out?"

Suspicion finally entered the conversation as Carrie remembered we were just two random, grown men she'd found in the parking lot. "I dunno…"

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet, opening it and showing it to her. "If it makes you feel any better, we're FBI."

Her expression cleared. "Oh. Okay, yeah, you can come in." She hopped out of the car and over to her house.

I closed the door and we followed her. "Works every time." I whispered to Sam, smiling.

The house was one of those white, old-fashioned looking ones with two stories and a balcony and a couple columns out front.

"Wow." I said.

Carrie looked back at me as she opened the door. "We just bought it from this old man. It's been in his family for ages, but he doesn't have any kids, so he sold it."

"And pissed off the ghost." I finished as she closed the door behind us. "Did his family own anything else?"

Carrie nodded. "They're the ones who started this town. They owned everything. But this was the last thing."

Sam was nodding slowly behind me. It was pretty obvious what had happened. The family didn't own anything anymore, which had upset something, and now we had a pissy ghost on our hands. The only question was, why twelve-year-old girls?"

"Where are your parents?" Sam asked. "Can we talk to them?"

Carrie bit her lip. "They're on vacation. They didn't wanna bring me, so they said I was old enough to stay here by myself."

"No offense, Carrie, but your parents suck." I said.

Sam gave me a weird look. I had no idea why. I knew how bad it could get when you were left by yourself to try and handle everything. Though, admittedly, Carrie didn't have the 'everything _**plus**_ Sammy' problem that I did.

Carrie didn't seem to mind what I'd said. "Yeah. I can't believe they didn't take me with them."

"Where'd they go?"

"New York, I think."

"Well, that's just beautiful." I muttered.

Sam nudged me in the ribs. "Dude, lay off the parents."

I shook my head, but moved on to other things. "Alright, we're gonna look around for the ghost." I sat Carrie down in the nearest chair and poured salt around her. "Stay in the circle. Sam and I are gonna go get some stuff from the car. We'll be right back."

She looked up at me, scared. "Double promise?"

I smiled softly. Sam used to say that. "Yeah, double promise."

 **XxXxX**

"Why twelve year olds? And why girls?" Sam asked the minute we were back at the car.

I popped open the trunk and started digging around. "Hell if I know. I mean, I can see why it's angry, but ghosts are only this specific when they've got an actual reason to be. Did you see anything when we were in the library?"

"No, Dean, you got us kicked out, remember?"

"Well so-rry." I handed him a sawed-off. "Now let's go."

We headed back in the house and I gave Carrie a reassuring smile. "We're just gonna look around. Remember to stay in the salt ring."

She nodded, looking scared, and Sam and I moved up the stairs. I waved the EMF all over the place, trying to get a reading.

"Anything?" Sam asked.

I shook my head. "Nothing but a couple blips. Damn, with a ghost this busy, you'd think there'd be something."

"Maybe it's broken."

"That's just hurtful. I made this myself, you know."

"You won't let me forget."

"Of course not."

We did a thorough sweep of the house and came up with absolutely nothing. Finally we ended up in the kitchen.

I shook my head. "I just don't get it. There're cold-spots all over the place, but nothing else points to a ghost."

"Dean, d'you think maybe Carrie's just… crazy?"

"Sam, there are cold-spots."

"But like you said, there's nothing else. Maybe their AC sucks."

"Dude-"

Before I could finish, Carrie screamed so loud and shrill that I was surprised the windows didn't shatter.

Sam and I ran back to the hall by the front door. Nothing was different, but Carrie had curled up on her chair in the salt circle and was bawling her eyes out.

I crouched down next to her. "Carrie, what happened? What's the matter?"

"The ghost came back, it threw a glass at me!" she screamed. I looked around the floor next to her, running my fingers through the carpet, but there wasn't any broken glass there. I glanced around. Everything was exactly how it'd been when Sam and I'd left her there.

"Carrie, nothing's here." I glanced at Sam. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was crazy. Or maybe she was taking advantage of all the girls killed lately to get attention. Her parents had left her alone by herself even though girls were getting killed, after all. Which really made me wanna punch them. What the hell did they think they were doing?

Carrie looked up at me, tears flowing. "What d'you mean? It's right-" she turned to look down at the carpet, then froze. "But - but it was right there! It hit the wall and shattered right there!" She spun back around to me, her hands gripping my shirt. "You gotta believe me, Dean! It was right there!"

"Sure, Carrie, I believe you." I lied. "C'mon, you can get out of the circle now."

She slipped off her chair and out of the circle, still clutching my shirt, like she was terrified to put any space between me and her.

I really wasn't sure what to do with it. It wasn't like I had a daughter or anything. Finally I just settled on doing what I used to with Sam and wrapped my arm around her shoulders, holding her close to my side. This traumatized little girl couldn't be that different from the traumatized little boy Sam had been.

"Stay with me tonight? Please?" Carrie looked up at me with puppy-dog eyes to rival Sam's. "I'm too scared to stay here alone."

Well, I couldn't say no to that. "Okay. We'll stay."

Sam gave me this look like I'd hit my head one too many times - which, obviously, I have, but that's beside the point.

Carrie smiled at me. "Thanks, Dean."

 ** _Author's afterthought: REVIEW PLEASE, GUYS! Constructive criticism is perfectly welcome, please tell me if you think the boys are OOC, and any other complaints you might have. And, obviously, good comments are loved and cherished as well._**


	2. Don't

_Author's note: Hey guys. I know it's been forever, I know. I'm here now, so just roll with it, okay?_

 **Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine**

 ** _Chapter 2: Don't_**

 **DEAN'S POV**

I was a big fan of the sleeping arrangements. Sam had gotten landed with sleeping on the floor in Carrie's room to make sure she stayed safe. I was sleeping in the parents' room, and damn, was it nice. The bed was so soft and squishy that it felt like sleeping on a cloud, and there was a big TV, and - the very best part - a mini fridge hidden by a stack of pillows between the bed and the nightstand. You know what was in that little white box of happiness?

Beer and _**pie**_.

So I got all of it out of there, sat down in the middle of that giant, squishy bed, and turned on the TV. And you know what was on? Scooby. Doo. Reruns. A whole marathon of them.

I sat there for hours, eating pie, drinking beer, and watching Scooby Doo on the world's squishiest bed. It was practically a religious experience.

And then, at about three in the morning, my phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Dean, I think there's actually a ghost here." Sam said.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I found this old journal in the back of Carrie's closet. Apparently in the 1800's, this kid, about twelve, had a huge thing for this girl that went to school with him. But she drowned in the lake outside of town, and he was so upset that he killed himself, 'cause he thought that life wasn't worth living if he couldn't have this girl, and that she'd be waiting for him on the other side. I'm guessing she wasn't."

"Then why is he only going all horror movie on us now?"

"I'm betting he wasn't violent until all his family's stuff was sold. He's a little boy, and it's like he doesn't have a home anymore."

The lights started flickering and the TV turned off. I sighed. "Well, hell."

The ghost was suddenly next to me. Sam had been right, it was a twelve-year-old boy with brown hair and green eyes. It threw me across the room, right into the TV. I crashed to the floor with the shattered remains.

"Son of a bitch." I groaned, but before I had a chance to do much of anything else, the ghost threw me again, this time into the bed's headboard, which cracked down the middle. At least this time I landed on something soft.

"Should've put down salt." I muttered, slowly getting to my feet. "Why didn't I put down salt?" Well, because I'd decided I didn't believe the girl, that's why.

"A fair question." the ghost hissed in my ear, shoving me to the ground. It pinned me down, it's hands going around my throat. I felt blood start trickling down from my neck as it's fingers slowly cut into my neck, inching steadily deeper.

I gasped in pain, trying to throw the ghost off, even though I knew it was no use. I had no salt and no iron, and I was royally screwed.

My vision was starting to go black from lack of oxygen when the door slammed open and there was Sam, with a hand on either side of the frame. "Dean!"

The ghost looked up at Sam, snarled, and disappeared as my little brother swung an iron fire poker he had in one hand.

I coughed and gasped, rolling over onto my side. So many people take air for granted. Maybe they should try being almost choked to death by a ghost sometime. Gives a guy perspective.

Sam hit the ground on his knees next to me, his hand going to my shoulder. "Dean, you okay?"

"Yeah." My voice sounded rough and my throat hurt like a bitch, but what do you expect? "I'm good."

Sam helped me to my feet. "And we thought Carrie was crazy."

The name hit me like a ton of bricks. "Son of a bitch! Carrie!"

We heard Carrie screaming as we ran down the hallway and threw the door open. The ghost had ahold of her wrists and was dragging her out the window.

I ran forward and grabbed her ankles, trying to haul her back in. "Sam!" I shouted. "Go to the cemetery, find this bastard's remains, and gank the son of a bitch!"

Sam nodded and took off.

I'm really not sure how long the spirit and I were there, locked in a tug of war with Carrie screaming in between us. I didn't want to hurt her, but I wasn't about to let that thing haul her out the window.

After what felt like forever, I grabbed the pole holding the curtains up, prayed it was iron, and swung it at the ghost. Thankfully it worked, and the ghost dissipated. I fell backwards onto the floor and Carrie fell on top of me.

"Dean!" she sobbed, wrapping her arms around my chest, not bothering to get up. "Dean, I thought it was going to get me!"

"Not while I'm here, Carrie. It's gonna be okay." I disentangled myself from her and got us both up. "C'mon, let's get outta here."

We barely got out of the room before stuff started flying. Picture frames, books, lamps, exploding windows, you name it. I grabbed Carrie's hand and we ducked and dodged our way out the front door.

"We made it!" Carrie shrieked happily, letting go of my hand and darting into the yard.

"Carrie, no, we're not safe yet!" I started towards her.

A knife came flying through the open front door and buried itself in her chest.

"NO!"

Carrie blinked in shock, blood staining her shirt, then crumpled to the ground. Or, at least, almost. I caught her on the way down.

"Carrie! Carrie, stay with me, okay?" I ran my hand through her hair gently and knelt there with her until long after the light had left her eyes. I didn't even notice that the ghost was gone.

How could I let this happen? I was supposed to protect her. She was just a little girl.

Maybe a short time later, maybe a long time later, I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Dean." It was Sam. "Let her go. She's dead."

Really? I hadn't noticed. "We - we gotta salt and burn her body. Don't need another ghost on our hands." I stood up, clutching Carrie close to my chest. "We can do it in all those trees behind the house or something." It was hard to keep it together, but that was what I was going to do.

Something told me Sam saw right through me, though. His voice was just a little too kind and understanding as he nodded and said, "Sure, Dean. Sounds good."

So that was what we did. We took Carrie's body a ways back into the trees and dug a small grave. I set her in there gently, and Sam did the rest. Almost a hunter's funeral, but not quite.

As we stood there watching her burn, I cast around for something to say, knowing how Sam usually reacted when I was silent. "Did you get the bastard's remains, Sammy?"

"Yeah. He showed up right as I was about to throw the match in, though."

"Did it tell you why it was killing little girls?" The venom in my voice startled even me.

Sam shot me a look, then said, "Yeah, actually. Remember how I told you he committed suicide when the girl he liked died? Well, get this; he was killing because he was trying to bring somebody over to be with him."

"It's like a bad Disney movie."

"Dean."

"Beauty and the Beast, anyone?"

"Dean, stop."

"Well, what d'you want me to say?"

"Something serious."

"What, like I'm a failure?"

"You're not a failure."

How could Sam have this much faith in me after all this time? After everything I'd done wrong? "I couldn't save her, Sam. She was counting on me, and I couldn't save her."

"Dean…"

"She was just one scared little girl."

"Dean, you gotta stop beating yourself up. It's not your fault."

"I should've kept a tighter hold on her, Sammy."

"Stop."

"I should've seen it coming."

"I said stop."

"I should've gotten us all out of there sooner."

"Dude, I mean it."

"I should've moved faster, got in front of the knife, taken it for her or _**something**_."

Sam grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him, gripping tightly. "Dean, seriously, _**stop**_. It is _**not your fault**_."

A little girl was dead all because of me, and here was my brother telling me it wasn't my fault. I wanted so bad to cry, but there was no way I was going to. Sam could see through me, though, just like always.

I shrugged his hands off and turned around, heading back to the library parking lot and my baby. "Dump the dirt on the grave and let's get outta here."

 **XxXxX**

Driving down the highway, neither of us spoke for several hours. I was too busy blaming and hating myself (so, what else is new?) and Sam seemed like he couldn't decide what to say to make me feel better.

I didn't get why he was bothering. It was my fault, that girl's blood was on my hands. We both knew it. So why was he so determined to convince me otherwise? It made no sense. No matter what Sam said, that terrified little blonde girl whose parents were stupid enough to leave her by herself was going to haunt my dreams.

I didn't stop driving that night. I wanted to put as much space between myself and that town, that house, that dead little girl, as I possibly could.

After about six hours of that oppressive silence, Sam seemed to make up his mind about he wanted to say. "Dean-"

"Sammy, just… don't."

 ** _Author's afterthought: I know it's not the happiest thing in the world, but review anyway? I love to hear your guys's thoughts on stuff._**


End file.
